


Get Some Sleep Tonight

by BeautyOnFyre



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Car Accident, F/M, Infidelity, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 20:54:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4976200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautyOnFyre/pseuds/BeautyOnFyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snow has never fallen in Beacon Hills during Stiles' eighteen years of life. </p><p>Now it coats the windshield as he drives into town. </p><p> </p><p>(Please heed the warning tags.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get Some Sleep Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Please read tags for warnings! This is not a happy one.

So I'll drive home alone,  
As I turn out the light,  
I'll put his picture down  
And maybe get some sleep tonight...

\- Taylor Swift, Teardrops On My Guitar

 

+++

 

Snow has never fallen in Beacon Hills during Stiles' eighteen years of life. 

Now it coats the windshield as he drives into town. 

Home. Away from him.

 

***

 

"I can't meet up later. I'll be studying all night," Derek says in his stoic voice over the phone. 

Stiles sighs. "Alright. I'm super disappointed, man, but I get it. Exams coming up and all." Derek went to the local college and Stiles was almost half-way through his senior year of high school. He understood the need to study very well. "I guess I'll talk to you later?" 

"Yeah," was Derek's gruff reply. 

Stiles smiled. He knew Derek was more than slightly emotionally constipated and that feelings made him awkward. "Love you," he whispered back, hoping he would hear his boyfriend say it back finally.

"I know."

Derek hung up.

 

***

 

The windshield wipers are working but the Jeep is older than him. Stiles knows that he should have them turned up to the faster speed but that will short-circuit them and then he won't have anything to work with. 

He blasts the heater onto the windshield vent and finds himself hunched over the steering wheel, competing with the snow and tears in his eyes to see the road.

 

***

 

There was only so much studying a guy with ADHD could do before he had to switch tracks. Stiles checked the clock and it only read 8:11 PM. He had just less than 2 hours until his curfew. Maybe Derek was just as bored of studying as he was. 

He grabbed his keys and sweater from his bed and trampled down the stairs, tapping his front pocket to reassure himself that his phone is there. 

The sheriff is home and watching a ball game. "I'm heading to Derek's. I'll be back before curfew."

John Stilinski turned to face his son as Stiles toed on his sneakers. "Be careful. It's below freezing and there's a good chance it'll snow tonight."

Stiles straightened and pulled on his hoodie with a practiced, fluid motion. "Seriously? This is Southern California. It never snows here."

"Well, 'never' might be tonight. Be careful. Call me if the Jeep kicks the bucket," his dad smiled and the corners of his eyes crinkled. 

"Roscoe will not let a little snow get him down. Love you, Dad," he waved before opening and closing the door behind him.

 

***

 

The heat on the windshield only sort-of helped. It melted the snow, yes, but then it got hit by more snow and Stiles ended up with a windshield covered in slush. 

His phone went off in his pocket and he hastily yanked it out to see it was a message from Derek. Half of him wanted to throw the phone out into the blizzard but his morbid curiosity won out. He unlocked his phone, looking back at the road, hitting his messages, checking the road as his wiper blades finally pushed the slush off the windshield, reading the message in glimpses as he steered through a bend in the road. 

**I didn't mean for you to find out this way.**

It was a little late for that now. 

Stupid snow. It was making Stiles' bad mood worse.

 

***

 

He turned off the headlights as he turned onto the long drive up to Derek's house on the preserve. His parents were gone on their annual anniversary vacation, leaving only Derek and his younger sister Cora at home. Cora was the same age as Stiles and was currently in most of his AP classes. They didn't run in the same social circles but the two exchanged pleasantries and idle chatter from time to time. 

As he drove up the lane way, white flakes started to float from the sky and land innocuously on the Jeep. The lights were on inside the house and through the large picture window, Stiles could see people. As he drove closer, he spotted a blue car in the driveway next to Cora's red Jetta and Derek's hand-me-down black Camaro that he got from their older sister Laura when she bought a new one. The blue car though - he knew it didn't belong to Laura. He hadn't seen it before, to be honest.

Not that he had an internal repertoire of Hale family vehicles to work from. He pulled up behind Derek's car, headlights still off so he could surprise his boyfriend. As he walked to the door, he saw the probable owner of the blue car - a blonde woman with sharp, striking features. She sat on the sofa beside Derek, as they watched something on the TV on the other wall. 

Stiles was ascending the porch stairs when he stopped. The blonde threw her head back laughing as Derek tickled her. He felt his brows scrunch in confusion before recognition washed over Stiles' face with a feeling of horror. 

 

***

 

He hastily tapped out a snappy response to Derek's text. 

**It didn't look like you meant for me to find out at all.**

Stiles craned his neck, leaning over the steering wheel to see through the accumulating slush. His seatbelt locked because of the angle he was leaning at.

Could this night get more frustrating?

He slackened the seatbelt then pulled it out again. Immediately he met resistance.

"Come on!" The stupid thing was locking up. He unbuckled the belt with his right hand, feeding it back to its rest position before pulling it back to click in across his lap. To avoid it locking up again, he ducked under the chest strap and leaned in closer to the wheel, turning another wide curve on the winding road back into Beacon Hills.

His phone dinged again and he picked it up. 

**I'm sorry.**

Stiles scoffed. He typed back quickly before hitting send and tossing the phone into the back seat.

**Too late.**

The Jeep skidded across some ice and his adrenaline spiked as he steered off the ice patch. He saw some lights in front of him, waiting with bated breath for the wipers to clear his windshield. Once they did, his heart stopped - a car was spun out in the middle of the road facing his direction. Instinct took over as he jerked the wheel to the right and missed the car. 

He realized his mistake too late.

The Jeep hit the same ice patch that the car in the road probably hit and Stiles slammed his brakes, feeling them lock as the ABS light came on.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" he yelled as the Jeep spun and skidded across the road. It stopped on what felt like the shoulder of the road, rear tires on the downslope into the ditch. Hands shaking, Stiles took a deep breath and let it out shakily. Adrenaline pumped through his veins making his chest heave with every breath. He looked around, only seeing the car in the road spin it's tires a bit before finally moving from the middle of the road. 

"Fuck. Okay, call Dad."

He unbuckled the seat belt, ducking under the strap again and leaned across the center console to grab his phone from the back seat. He got it in hand, unlocked it and called his dad.

"Did the Jeep die?" John laughed as he answered his phone.

"No, but I hit a patch of ice out here and Roscoe did some nice figure skating. I'm okay, but just letting you know-"

The call ended.

 

***

 

Stiles was stuck to the spot with one foot on the step above where he stood. The thing keeping him in place was pure shock. The blonde had surged forward, hands cupping around Derek's face, and kissed him. Derek Hale. Stiles' boyfriend of six months.

He watched as Derek pulled her in by the neck - the same way he did to Stiles. The woman pulled away to straddle his lap before going in for another kiss when she looked over Derek's shoulder and met Stiles' eyes. He saw her say something before Derek whipped his head around and spotted Stiles.

He pulled his foot off the top step as he saw Derek's mouth form his name before pushing the whore from his lap. Stiles took another step backwards to the lower stair as Derek started to get off the couch. 

Stiles could only shake his head, a vain attempt at removing the picture from his head, before he turned tail and bolted back to his Jeep. He didn't hear the door to the house open, but he did hear Derek's voice echo his name through the night. The only other thing he registers is the resounding shout of "Fuck!" from the porch as he turns the Jeep around and drives back down the lane way faster than he probably should be.

The wind picks up, bringing more white flakes with it to pelt at Stiles' windshield. 

He turns on his windshield wipers as the snow starts to stick to the glass and impede his vision more than the tears spilling down his cheeks.

 

***

 

Parrish was first on the scene, setting up flares to signal other motorists to stop in each direction. He leaves the lights on as he goes to the trucker in the ditch. Jordan climbed onto the rig and looked in the window to see a harried but intact trucker that was rolling down his window. 

"I'm fine. How's the other guy?" 

Parrish wrinkled his brow. He was called in for an eighteen wheeler in the ditch. "Other guy?"

The trucker nods vehemently, "I hit the ice and my load carried me towards the ditch. I didn't see 'im until I was right there. A jeep - little Wrangler-thing. It was almost in the ditch. Looked like he was trying to drive out maybe when I slid into 'im. Jeep went flying!" the trucker shouted as he pointed in the direction of the other vehicle. "Gotta see if their okay! I'm fine, go." 

Jordan dismounted the rig and reached for his radio to call it in as he went down the hill towards the tree line. 

His heart stopped.

"Dispatch."

"Go for dispatch," the radio crackled. 

"Get an ambulance out here NOW! Call the sheriff. It-it's Stiles' Jeep."

 

***

 

Twenty minutes of searching and the ambulance had finally pulled up to the flare line with its sirens blaring. The snow started to clear and Jordan was able to spot a dot of red twenty or so feet up the tree line and he ran to it. He dropped to his knees beside the figure in the snow, shining his flashlight on the blue hoodie that he recognized too well. The redness wasn't clothing but the snow and Jordan felt bile rising in his throat as he touched his fingers to the side of the face-down person's throat to find nothing.

No pulse.

"I need a medic!" Parrish waved his flashlight to signal his position to the EMTs that stumbled their way down to the tree line. 

 

***

 

The service was held a week later. The tux he had bought early for prom and hadn't worn yet became Stiles' death suit. The sheriff wasn't holding it together as he had outlived the last of his three-piece family.

A good man was burying his son.

Derek had dragged himself out of his house for the funeral with two words ringing in his head. 

**Too late.**

As the minister presided over the assembled crowd, speaking the verse that no one knew but everyone remembered, he clenched his hand around the rose stems. His fist clenched harder as he felt a few thorns pierce through the cellophane and bite into his flesh. 

"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me," the minister speaks and Derek only sees two words. 

**Too late.**

The service ends and Derek waits until much of the crowd has dispersed. He steps forward, placing the roses down on the closed casket and stops before pressing a kiss the the cold wood under his finger tips. 

This was his fault. 

He was too late. 

 

***

 

He drove home alone, rain occasionally pattering against the glass. Derek couldn't stop thinking about Stiles' father.

The man was devastated. 

Even so, he had found the strength to walk over to Derek's side and clap a hand on his shoulder. "He was on his way to see you, son."

"Sir, I-"

"No, you listen to me. That boy there loved you. I just-" he fumbled with something in his pocket before pulling it out and handing it to Derek. "I can't look at it. He has a passcode on it." Derek looks down to see a jagged crack spidered down the screen of Stiles' cell phone. "It still works. I charged it, take a look."

He hits the lock button because the other one along the touch screen face is jammed. It lights up to a picture of Stiles howling with laughter as Derek playfully nibbles on his ear behind him. They had been laying together on the couch watching reruns of Cake Boss because Stiles loves - loved - cake and joked about eating a cake of someone's face. 

The sheriff clapped him on the shoulder again. "There's a bunch of things I know he'd want you to have. You'll have to stop by some time. Lord knows I can't go through it."

Derek found himself in his driveway, not remembering how he got there or when he had finally parked the car. He got out, Stiles' phone clenched in his hand, and wandered into the house to his room listlessly. He stripped off the suit and let it fall to the floor as he turned off the light in his room. Crawling into the bed where he had stolen countless kisses and made love with Stiles only a handful of times was harder than he thought it would be. The phone remained in his hand as he stared at the background picture for the thousandth time that day. Derek finally bucked up the courage and opened the phone, scrolling across the home screen with a sad smile. This photo was a sleep-mussed morning shot of Derek on one of the rare times that Stiles had stayed over. 

If only he hadn't fucked all this up. 

If he had never lost track of what was important. 

If he had never met Kate. 

If he had been the man that Stiles deserved. 

Derek hit the messages icon and froze at the first conversation preview. 

**Too late.**

He took a stuttering breath and locked the phone, placing it face-down on the pillow Stiles always stole when they hung out in Derek's room.

He gathered his duvet in his fists and curled onto his side. 

Maybe he'd finally get some sleep tonight.

 

***

 

Snow will never fall again in Beacon Hills during Derek's life.

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts?


End file.
